


The Trial

by Milli Moi (Millimoi)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-Hogwarts, War Crimes, trial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9110479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millimoi/pseuds/Milli%20Moi
Summary: A war crime is always a war crime, but what if the worst criminal is the one that wins the war?three years after the battle of Hogwarts the trio are forced to face it all again, will they win this last battle





	1. the morning

The day dawned early and bright for March. Hermione had been awake since three, rolling around the bed, pushing her duvet off her body and pulling it back on. She glanced at the clock beside the bed, six am, late enough to get up. She felt slightly sick with worry- the other she hadn’t slept well. Today was the first day of the trials, the war crimes trial, and first to the podium was Harry.   
Part of Hermione was desperate to believe it would go well, but she wasn’t even sure how many times her best friend had used the unforgivable curses. Each curse when cast, by wizarding law, was a life sentence in Azkaban.   
She glanced over at Ron, sprawled out on his back in a navy vest top and boxers; snoring. They hadn’t caught up to him yet, or Ginny. Ron had used the killing curse but it had missed, not actually killing. Ginny had incorrectly fired the cruciatus curse. She shuddered. The word ‘crucio’ still haunted her dreams, having her wake up in a pool of sweat with her fiancé trying to comfort her. She caught sight of the glint of light on the wall opposite and glanced down at the castor.   
It was a simple band, white gold, but it meant so much. She was married, she was someone’s wife- Ron’s wife- but she hadn’t expected the bliss to end so soon. They had received note on Harry’s trial the day they returned from their honeymoon at the house Hermione’s parents owned in the Lake District. There had followed a family meeting at the Burrow, a huge get together with all the kids tossed upstairs under the control of Fleur, who- white as a ghost- didn’t look like she had much to contribute to the conversation.   
It had been the quietest family meeting she had ever had with the Weasleys. It brought back memories, memories which had been healing, which had moved on from gaping wounds, which were no longer as painful. The wound had been torn wide once more and left to bleed, a deep crevice in the heart of every Weasley. Everyone knew they had committed a crime of some kind from straight up murder to hiding a fugitive, everyone in that room was guilty.   
Then the papers caught on and the magic world was flooded with information. Hermione’s parents had even seen Harry was being held responsible for several disappearances in the muggle world, which of course was just a cover up- a case of newspapers grabbing the story and running. The uk knew, everyone had seen Harry’s face for all the wrong reasons.   
Hermione curled her hands into tight fists, it made her so angry! Harry had saved them, the muggles especially wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Harry. They should be respecting him, giving him medals and knighthoods, or at least their wizarding equivalent. Stuffing her feet in her slippers she scuffed her feet across the floor into the bathroom. Her hands grasped tight on the bowl of the sink. She could feel herself screaming in anger but instead of steam from her ears she was met in the mirror by tears streaming from her eyes. She burst into choking, ugly sobs.   
It was all wrong, so wrong. They had fought for so long, Harry had lost everyone from his past, and he berated himself constantly for the things he could have done differently. He didn’t need the world telling him he had done it wrong.   
She knew all about war crimes, the Geneva convention and its results had been a particular interest of hers when she was around ten years old. She knew someone always had to pay, but Harry was the hero, never mind his minor mistakes, what happened to the Utilitarian view on things? Clearly the ministry of magic had a different idea.   
Hermione knew through work that the trial was not the entire choice of the ministry, but that the ministry had been threatened by the UK government, that if they did not find someone responsible for the war themselves then the government would step in and trial Harry and the other criminals. She believed it was an empty threat, but if it wasn’t? The last war criminals were killed by firing squad. Killed.   
Another angry sob escaped her, she thumped the sink with her fist before letting go of its rim and sliding down to the floor, her knees under her chin and her face in her hands.   
She lifted from her sorrow when a big soft and warm hand was placed on her shoulder. She opened her eyes to find her husband crouched in front of her. Ron gave her a tiny smile, his eyes wide and searching, searching for a sign she was going to be ok. Hermione gave him a small reassuring nod.   
It was easy to forget that Ron was going through this too, not only was his best friend the first on trial but his mother was going to face trial, and both he and his baby sister could also face discipline. Ron had worse memories some may argue than she did. Ron had lost a brother in the battle, his next older brother who he had never known life without. Yes, Hermione had suffered what was believed to be the worst pain known to man, but she had not remained conscious. Ron remembered it all.   
She moved forwards to her husband, wrapping her arms across his back and burrowing her face into his broad shoulder. Ron held her there, twining his hand in her untameable hair. No matter what happened today, no matter what the outcome they would always have each other, and ‘they’ would always include Harry. They were a trio, they had survived against all the odds, from a mountain troll to Voldemort himself. They had made it together.


	2. chapter two

The family made plans to meet at the Burrow before the trial, before they travelled to the Ministry. Harry, Ginny and Arthur had already travelled there early, to be prepared. This trial was to be unlike anything the ministry had seen in her lifetime. The jury consisted of around two hundred witches, wizards and squibs. The minister of Magic himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt, was to conduct the trial. The Head of Magical law enforcement- Shacklebolt’s second in command- was to relay all decisions through the huge jury and a decision to be made. This was then to be passed back through to the Prime Minister, who, as leader of the country, would have the final say.   
Hermione was not sure she agreed with this arrangement but as head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures but because of her relationship with Harry she, as well as Arthur, Percy and Fleur, had all been omitted from the trial. She did know however that Shacklebolt had been a member of the Order, that he had fought alongside Hermione for a common goal. He had the right views, the same visions as Hermione on rebuilding the ministry, on making the world a better place.   
She had to remember it didn’t all come down to the judge. This case was going to be heavily influenced by the jury, and they could only pray that the wizarding public had the same views as the Weasley family. Back when Harry was born they had accepted them as their hero, ‘the boy who lived’ was the person kids looked up to, the person they owed their lives. She could only pray they remembered that.   
Molly was in tatters when they arrived, she was cleaning vigorously- by hand. Ron’s grip tightened on her hand as they stood in the doorway. Hermione remembered this version of Molly, the Molly who had just lost a son. She knew that in Molly’s eyes Harry was more than son-in-law and that she was more than a daughter-in-law. Everyone the Weasley’s welcomed into their house was instantly part of their family. Molly had cried as much over Harry coming home safe from the war as she was her six blood children. Harry was just another son, Molly knew Lily would have wanted that; Harry knew that Molly was the best maternal figure he could have wanted other than his blood parents.   
George was sitting at the kitchen table, being angrily batted by a cloth which was trying to clean it. His head was in his hands. Seeing George like this Ron swallowed hard, his grip tightening again. George suddenly slammed a fist on the table, shoving the cloth to the floor. His white shirt had a sodden patch where the cloth had been. George stood. There were tears in his eyes.   
“This is so bloody stupid!” He yelled,   
“George, Language,” his mother reprimanded before seeing her son’s expression and biting her lip.   
“They’re going to call him guilty! They’ll have Fred dead for nothing! Do they know how it feels?” George slapped his chest, “How it feels in here!” he spun on his heel clumsily and stormed off up the stairs, two at a time.   
Molly turned to look at Hermione and her Husband standing in the doorway, she bit her lip harder, her teeth sinking in to try and prevent her glazed eyes from dripping onto her made-up face. Hermione quickly left Ron’s side and went to offer a hug to her mother-in-law. Molly was more than happy to wrap her arms around Hermione, embracing her tightly while the tears, sobs and sniffles voiced their opinions.   
Ron crossed the floor behind them and followed his elder brother up the stairs and, after a moment or two, Molly removed her face from Hermione’s shoulder and offered her a watery smile and a nod.   
“It’s ok dear, just George, George is finding things a little tough just now.” Hermione nodded, patting her mother-in-law on the arm. At that moment, Percy entered the kitchen, followed by Bill and Fleur carrying Victoire. Charlie hadn’t been able to get home in time for the trial. The boys were both wearing dress robes, Percy’s were chestnut and Bill’s a very deep teal colour. Fleur wore dress robes also but hers were not the heavy material that most British robes were, they were silky and thin, with frilly sleeves- bit like French underwear.   
Hermione suddenly felt a little awkward, she only owned one set of dress robes- which were black, and her next closest thing was her wedding dress. No, she wore a blouse and pencil skirt- a garment Ron had found great pleasure in when she first started to work. She thought she was dressed appropriately for a trial but her clothes practically screamed muggleborn.   
It was then she made a realisation- Molly wasn’t wearing dress robes, she was dressed in a patchwork dress with half-length sleeves that Hermione knew Molly used for cleaning. Molly must have caught Hermione’s look because she smiled and shook her head.   
“I’m not going dear. I’m looking after Victoire, and George. We decided, George and I, that there was too much risk.” Molly stopped there. They all knew what Molly was talking about. In the wizarding world, it was called Curseshock, but that was a wide and old-fashioned term. It was PTSD; Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. George hadn’t coped well since he had lost his twin, Fred had been everything- as identical twins often are to each other.   
A voice from the staircase brought Hermione from her thoughts.   
“Angelina’s coming over- to keep me company.” When all he received was a blank look from Hermione and Fleur he rolled his eyes,   
“Angelina Johnson, chaser, Gyffindor quidditch team- a friend from school.”   
Hermione nodded, she did remember Angelina, although she could have sworn she dated Fred, perhaps it was in losing Fred that they had become friends. Hermione couldn’t help but smile a little, if that was the case then she had read enough romance novels to know what happened next.


End file.
